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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on May 21st, 2014, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 15, Issue 11 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 15, Issue 11

Caveman cardio

By ROB KRIDER


Cavemen didn’t have beer bellies. They didn’t for a couple of reasons: First, beer hadn’t been invented yet, and coincidentally, really bad decisions hadn’t been invented yet either. Second, and more importantly, cavemen didn’t have beer bellies because they chased their food. We all know you can get fat sitting around drinking beer and playing Call of Duty. But nobody has ever gotten fat running around holding a sharpened rock as he tries to kill his dinner. Chasing food is the ultimate exercise.

Me, in this century, I don’t chase my food. In fact, I don’t even get out of my car to get food. A clown makes my favorite thing to eat—the Double McCalorie Burger—and he doesn’t make me chase it. All I have to do is pull into the drive-thru. No calories are burned from simply leaning out of a car window to grab a bag of junk food. The only real exercise my body gets is when I pull my car’s gearshift lever from park to drive so I can drive away. “Whew! I’m tired. Let’s get some ice cream.”

As a result of no longer chasing food, society as a whole has started to gain weight. Caveman not only had to chase his food, but he didn’t have a refrigerator to store it in for late-night snacks. This means the caveman didn’t wake up at 2 a.m. and stare blankly into a refrigerator to decide what he wanted to nosh on. “Easy Cheese on Cheez-Its or week-old birthday cake?” Caveman didn’t enjoy late night snacks; he didn’t even celebrate birthdays. He didn’t bother because Hallmark hadn’t invented the birthday card yet, and also caveman didn’t know what a calendar was. Every single day of life existing on the planet as a human and not as a pile of bear dung was a day for celebration for the caveman. I can’t celebrate every day of life. I’m only allowed to celebrate on three-day holiday weekends that have been endorsed by the greeting card corporations.

The caveman and I don’t have much in common. His life was simple: find shelter, find food, and procreate. I have to find Wi-Fi, merge in traffic, and keep my wife (who has the right to vote) happy 24/7. Twenty-four hours a day of happiness is a lot to ask a man to give his wife. It is especially hard for me because I actually get in trouble while I’m sleeping. My wife, whom I love, says I snore, however I have yet to witness any proof of this ridiculous claim. Doctors refer to my medical condition as sleep apnea. Caveman would call this condition “Man with fat neck.” Caveman didn’t have sleep apnea because he didn’t get fat enough to get a fat neck. Yes, my neck has fat. Women say, “Through the lips and straight to the hips.” I say, “Through the lips and ... that’s it, the food just stays there and my mouth turns it into neck fat.” I have evolved to the point where I don’t even use my stomach anymore.

Obviously, since I don’t chase food, I don’t burn the same amount of calories as the caveman. Besides not chasing food, I realized I don’t chase anything. In fact, I don’t really do anything labor intensive, ever. I have outsourced all of those hard jobs—the kind of jobs or chores that make you sweat. I have a gardener to push the lawn mower, a pool boy to sweep the pool, a pest guy to kill the spiders, and housekeeper to scrub the floors. With fast food and a drive-up ATM to pay my bills, I literally never even have to get out of my car. This is the reason my neck is so fat. All I do is drive around town playing teenage taxi to my kids and sucking down cheeseburgers. I haven’t gotten out of the car in more than a month.

Ironically, I have gained so much weight eating clown burgers while watching the gardener rake my leaves I decided to join a gym so I can burn neck fat calories. This means at the same time I pay the gardener to burn calories by raking my leaves, I am paying a gym a monthly fee so I can use an elliptical machine (which essentially mimics the motion of leaf raking) and try to burn calories. If I was smart, and not lazy (of which I am neither), I should fire my gardener, quit the gym, and grab a rake. I could be skinny and save myself a couple hundred dollars a month.

Instead of being smart and just burning calories by working on my own yard or cleaning my own house, I have decided to turn myself into a gerbil on a wheel and walk on a treadmill. I am paying a gym money so I can walk in place and stare at flat screen TVs that display advertisements for fast food restaurants. When I’m on the treadmill, all I can think about is burning enough calories so when I leave I can go get a milkshake.

Caveman never would have done this nonsense. He didn’t need a treadmill; he ran across the forest to kill a bunny for lunch. He didn’t take a kettle bell class; he lobbed rocks at elephants for food. He wouldn’t stand in line at Target for 20 minutes to spend $6 for a Mother’s Day card. What have we learned today? It turns out I’m not as smart as a caveman.

 

Rob is considering outsourcing his workout to someone so the gym membership isn’t wasted. Send comments through the executive editor at rmiller@santamariasun.com.




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